. . . it's complicated . . .

daily post one-word prompt

every last staple
in my tiny stapler
appears always
to be unstable
and drops on the table
that was given me
by my late Aunt Mable
who abhorred waste
and I fear is now
turning in her grave
at the thought of
all these wasted staples
on her old table
where there’s not mushroom
for old dad jokes
and stationary veg

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on the top of tall trees strutted the bird
with a song and name long since heard
for man had ceased to roam this world
his forgotten words in leaves unstirred
when from its throat the bird unfurled
a dictum tweet unleashed and hurled
I AM THE ONE, THE TRUE, HOLY BIRD!

In the backyard battleground
The mother wants rid of her daughter
But the daughter wants more worms

Time to fly the nest little blackbird
The mother tries to persuade her daughter
But the daughter has a broken wing

They argue beak to beak upon the ground
The mother determined to force the issue
But the disabled daughter won’t let go

A stand-off dance of sorts now ensues
The mother twelve inches from her daughter
But the daughter mirrors her every move

Flicking autumn leaves as blackbirds do
The mother finds a tasty morsel or two
But the daughter dashes in for the steal

Another fight and flying feathers
The mother’s had enough of this pantomime
But her daughter’s bond is that much stronger

Than Mother Nature would care to admit
With winter waiting beyond the hedgerow
Where the weak will succumb to cold defeat

(These past couple of days I have been watching a pair of female blackbirds fighting and bickering in the yard. One appears to be injured and I have surmised that it is the young of the adult which now appears to be growing impatient for it to leave her side. The adult tries to chase it away but it keeps hanging around and dashes in when there is any chance of being fed.

I love all the birds that visit my garden and always have nuts and seeds in feeders for them. Living on a smallholding away from other houses and people they are my closest neighbours

Mother Nature is also often a cruel neighbour who waits next door with harsh winters and her very own and very effective mechanism for dealing with the weak and injured. I wondered about drawing comparisons with the way we treat our own weak and injured but the story of the birds felt too self-contained to add another dimension. Sometimes it’s best that we just observe and leave our emotional footprint out of the equation.

By chance I was writing this poem as the Daily Post prompt came through. The word ‘neighbors’ (spelt ‘neighbours’ here in UK) seemed to fit the theme quite nicely despite my having already posted the poem elsewhere under the title ‘Succumb’. Have a lovely weekend friends)

Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley was very tired
Last night he had fought with his wife Mary
She desperately needed a vacation to Hawaii
He was desperately needed to fight the War on Whatever

Airman Bradley rubbed his tired little eyes
He blinked at the bank of screens in front of him
He tried to focus in on the day’s top secret mission
A group or two of terrorists in 🔲🔲🔲🔲🔲 or somewhere

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go to Hawaii
It was just that he didn’t want to go with Mary
For all she ever did was tan her bloated body
Or feed his earnings down the throats of Vegas slots

Bradley drank another insulated cup of black coffee
He was trained to be disconnected to the enemy
This disconnection spilled over into his private life
And the boredom filled his head like the caffeine

He spent too much time inside this metal container
Air-conditioned inside but blistering desert heat out
Life it seemed was an assault of extremes
Us and them and him and her and this and that

He guided the unmanned drone on its silent way
“Was always good at video games” he would brag
Flying over a beach, what was it he could see down there?
Was that a woman sunbathing, lying on the sand?

He banked his killing machine and circled around
Hand on his joystick and her life in his hands
His co-pilot was out of the room taking a piss
Airman ‘Little Boy’ Bradley tugged at his trigger

And watched his missile send sand, sea, flesh and bone
In a million ejaculating pleasurable projectile gifts –
He flew on – successfully completed his 100th official mission
Returned home late and found his wife Mary